


EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW!

by rezi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Interview, Rose and Dave are massive trolls no matter what universe they're in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rezi/pseuds/rezi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this issue only, our top celebrity reporter gets to know the most elusive odd couple in showbiz: Dave Strider and Rose Lalonde. We ask them the questions everyone's always wondered about, including what the true nature of their relationship is, what they think of all the rumors surrounding them, and why are they always so secretive anyway? More within!</p>
            </blockquote>





	EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW!

Rain tips itself against the window as I conduct our conversation.

"The heavens are melting," Lalonde remarks, eyebrow raised in a manner that makes the comment feel self-parodical.

"Nah, some fucker in the sky spilt his soda," comes Strider's mumbled response.

This early on, before I've seen their true chemistry at work, I can't help but wonder: what on Earth do these two have in common?

We're in a high end café on the top floor of a skyscraper; the view over the city is simply stunning. Yet neither of them seems interested. A sort of 'been there, seen that' attitude, I suppose.

Rose Lalonde picks disdainfully at a bizarrely mismatched combination of a plain cucumber sandwich and a lavishly sauce-covered dessert. She seems to have almost dissected the former. The latter, barely touched.

Her partner -- of whatever kind -- is similarly aloof. Dave Strider, inscrutable behind his omnipresent sunglasses, sits with his arms folded. The only times he ever shifts from this defensive posture is to sip from the sole component of his order: apple ice tea.

An icy front indeed.

Yet it's not long before my rhetorical question from the start is answered. What these two have in common is an almost infuriating way to elude even the most reasonable of questions.

I ask Lalonde: has she been enjoying the success of the Complacency of the Learned movies; does she feel they live up to the spirit of her original books?

"No comment," smiles she, full of coyness and mirth.

I ask Strider: what would be his response to those trying to classify or find meaning in his work; would he agree with critics labeling it Neo-Dadaist or anti-art?

"No comment," smirks he, face mostly shielded by the shades.

They take delight in my frustration as if it's an increasingly funny in-joke. There's a little look between them now and again -- nigh imperceptible, but a certain signifier of the two being very close friends indeed.

Friends? Or something else? I remind them of the many rumors circulating: in the tabloids, they are everything from long-lost siblings to secretly married.

"Oh yeah, they're all true," Strider nods.

Lalonde agrees, entirely deadpan: "Indeed. Every individual rumor is constructed from nothing but the purest truth. We are simultaneously siblings, married, subliminal conspiracy theorists, born not of this Earth and catapulted down to this planet as children on meteors aflame."

I can't say I've ever heard the last of those. Are the reports really that precise?

"They will be," she mutters, fingers tented. Cryptic.

How about the rumors that contradict? They can't be siblings and married... unless there's something rather untoward going on. And one of the most prevalent rumors says that Lalonde is a lesbian--

"Okay, that one is bullshit," Strider cuts in. "I gotta set the record straight here. The truth is, Rose is pansexual. I mean, it's obvious. One look at her and it's like, yup, that's a girl who's got the hots for pans."

I thought pansexual meant being open to attraction to anyone.

"Not in her case."

The newly outed pansexual lets out a heavy, over dramatic sigh. "Yes, I must confess: it was a difficult time, coming to realize my unadulterated lust for kitchen utensils. But I have come to terms with it at last, and shall be marrying a charming wok next summer."

"I'm so proud of her," intones an unflinching Strider.

This is all well and good, but what if I fabricated a new rumor here and now, out of the whole cloth? What if, for instance, I insisted that both of them are terrorists bent on undermining the world government?

There's an ulterior motive to this question. Some of the darker (and, worryingly, more well-supported) rumors insist they were involved with Skaianet's Jade English before her disgrace, downfall and death. I'm usually not one for a conspiracy theory, but given how secretive these two are...

Yet, as with everything so far, their reaction is insincere. Lalonde gasps, face full of overblown horror. "Oh no! However did you know? We are unmade, I say! Unmade!"

Strider's face stays solemn. "Hey, not cool. That's confidential business, yo." I study that face for the truth in his reaction, but... nothing.

While all their answers may be pure nonsense (or are they? They take it all so seriously, I honestly cannot tell) at least I've got them to open up. Still, this conversation is very much theirs.

Time for a change of tack.

I opt for a simple question: how did they grow up? Did their circumstances as children have any bearing, in their opinion, on their work?

"My daddy ate my fries once. I've never forgiven him." I imagine that Strider, behind the all-concealing shades, is staring wistfully into the distance. "I let out my angst with .JPEG artifacts and shitty movovies." _[sic -- this is ostensibly a reference to his infamous work SBAHJ THE MOVOVIE, believed to have been released in either 2001 or 2003 -- Ed.]_

"His adoptive father, of course," Lalonde corrects him. "We were but foundlings, rescued from oblivion by what were to become our respective families. Fortune was kind in this respect, yet utterly cruel in allowing dear David to fall into the hands of despicable fry thieves."

"Why did he eat my fries?" he laments further. "I just don't understand..."

"There, there," consoles his apparent sister/wife/fellow foundling, giving him a comforting arm rub.

I know I'm unlikely to get any further, but I can't help but try: out loud, I observe how close they seem. When and how did they meet in the first place, and how did they form such a bond?

"It's a tricky question as to 'when' it was," muses Lalonde. "Time is a tricky thing in the Timeless Expanse in which we were created."

Lord, give me strength. At least they're consistent...

"Yeah. Whole universe ago. As for how we met, we were in the same batch of clones."

Never in my life have I interviewed anyone so incomprehensible. Yet seeing them play out their ever-deepening gags is almost poetry in motion. I feel as if I'm privy to some level of humour far higher than mortal minds can ever understand. I can almost believe Lalonde's assertion that they weren't born on this planet.

The interview's almost over. Perhaps it's the journalist in me, but I can't help but grasp at one last opportunity to bring up some serious revelations. The entirety of their presence in the worlds of literature and cinema has built up nothing but questions; I want answers.

Perhaps they'll answer one that I, among many, have often wondered about: they're rarely, if ever, seen in public. Lalonde in particular has never been seen outside of book launches. I ask them: what's the reason behind this. And why, of all the interviews they've turned down, have they gone ahead with this one?

Strider puts it bluntly: "I was drawn to you by your magnetic attraction. Like, even before I'd seen you or actually knew who you were. Just couldn't keep away. Could I have your number?"

"Could I have your saucepans?" Lalonde adds with a lecherous smirk.

Alright, that's all for today.

I admit defeat and leave them alone, feeling as if I know less than ever before. Perhaps, barring each other, no one truly knows them. Perhaps no one ever will.

Perhaps we shouldn't try to, either. That's the joke, after all. Spoiling their mystique would spoil the fun.

_[Editor's note: there was to be a photograph included with this article, but like most photographs taken of Rose Lalonde it has mysteriously faded.]_

**Author's Note:**

> These two. THESE TWO. Derse sibling banter is best banter. I could easily survive several months on nothing but Derse sibling banter.
> 
> Also blarggg I haven't been ficcing for a month or so. [*throws](http://scratch.mit.edu/projects/17036423/) [a](http://i.imgur.com/qkYzJYk.png) [whole](http://i.imgur.com/lB2p5zB.png) [bunch](http://i.imgur.com/3d8nC8m.png) [of](http://i.imgur.com/Xm4WkIB.png) [previews](http://i.imgur.com/4YhIljW.png) [at](http://i.imgur.com/954Lwf5.png) [you*](http://i.imgur.com/SAX6QNd.png) \-- does that make up for it?


End file.
